22 Nights Read Free Page A

people.
    Some men would do anything for wealth.
    Byrnard Pyrl leaped from his horse with a grace Bela admired. “A rider approaches. He wears an imperial uniform and his horse is clad in a soldier’s imperial green as well, but of course that doesn’t mean he’s who he appears to be.”
    Bela’s heart gave a nasty flip at the mention of imperial green. They did not see many soldiers out so far, not since the end of the war with Ciro, but still—her heart and her stomach reacted fiercely.
    A handful of men gathered weapons and torches and collected their horses. The would-be intruder would be met and turned away from the village. None but Turis were welcome here. Strangers were not allowed simply to ride into their midst and be accepted.
    Bela quickly collected her own sword and ran to her horse, intent on joining the men who would meet the rider. She was not surprised when her brother Tyman ordered her to remain behind with the other women. No one but she would see the glint of humor in his eyes. She looked to her older brother Clyn, who did not have Tyman’s sense of humor. He, too, shook his head in denial.
    Just because she was dressed like a woman tonight, that didn’t mean she had to be treated like one!
    A group of six men, her brothers among them, galloped toward the western edge of the village, their torches burning bright long after the men and the animals had vanished from sight. Bela watched those bits of light for a moment, and then she hiked up the skirt of her long gown and leaped into the saddle. Her sword remained close at hand, tucked into the leather sheath which hung from her saddle.
    “Belavalari, don’t!” a well-dressed and attractive older woman cried, rushing forward from the group of revelers. Bela knew that her mother would very much like to see her only daughter become a wife, as Jocylen had. She wanted to see her daughter among those women who cooked and cleaned and sewed and birthed babies.
    “Sorry, Mama, I have to go.”
    “You do not . . .”
    Bela set her horse into motion before her mother could finish her protest. Her loose hair whipped behind her as she raced from the village, her mare galloping into the darkness, away from the fires which lit the night celebration. For the first time this evening, Bela smiled. She was more warrior than woman, and when it came to protecting these people from intruders, it was as much her duty as it was her brothers’.
     
    MERIN was not surprised to see the riders approaching with force and mistrust; this was a typical Turi greeting. It was for this reason that he had chosen to make the trip alone. He was sure that Valeron would send a chaperone, and perhaps a warrior or two, with his daughter when they left the village for Arthes, but on the initial leg of the journey other travelers would’ve only slowed him down.
    And would’ve made this initial greeting more difficult. The Turis would not be suspicious of one traveler, especially when he was a soldier with whom many of them had once fought. If Merin had arrived with a contingent of soldiers, that would’ve been another story entirely.
    Merin slowed his horse and held up both hands, so the riders would see that he was unarmed. As they drew close, he was happy to see two familiar faces. Tyman and Clyn, sons of the Turi chieftain, had fought with him for a time, when the threat of Ciro’s Own had come near their home. Even though they had not parted on the best of terms—he had wished for an army of Turis to fight with his sentinels well beyond the clan’s lands, and they had refused—he trusted them. They were good, if somewhat primal, men.
    The chieftain’s sons were not happy to see him, but they wouldn’t kill him—not right away, in any case. Not unless their sister had said too much after Merin had left their village.
    “I bring a message from the emperor,” Merin called out. His hands remained visible, but even so three of the riders drew their swords. Tyman and Clyn did not